Lord of the Rings: The Truth Revealed
by elfchicks
Summary: Here it is, at long last! The disturbing tale of Lord Elrond's mental toying with the citizens of Middle-earth... how he duped all the world with the ratings bonanza reality show most people know as "the Quest to Destroy the One Ring." The scandal! The passion! The drama! Go behind the scenes with those of us who are now in the know.
1. Chapter I - The Quite Expected Party

**Lord of the Rings: The Truth Revealed**

_Froggy, Rilian, & Sulky; 2006 _

_A/N: This story was written back in high school (which was, for me, about six years ago), and I've finally decided to post it, because I think it's a rather entertaining premise. No offense meant to most venerable Tolkien, obviously. I'm well aware the _Lord of the Rings_ events really happened, and were not a cleverly planned reality show._

* * *

**Chapter I - The Quite Expected Party  
**

Saruman stared sharply down at Gandalf from his stone dais. "I hear you've been gallivanting around the Shire with that Bilbo Baggins and his nephew Frodo when we have more important, higher matters that need tending to."

Gandalf's eyes narrowed angrily at the thought. "You know I can't stand him. Why would I go 'gallivanting' around the Shire with him?"

"Who?"

"Frodo Baggins." The voice dripped with malice.

"What do you have against him?" questioned Saruman, peering at Gandalf strangely. "How could he have offended you so at his age?"

"Well," began Gandalf, "it all started when…"

The incident that started all the trouble ensued long before Bilbo's 111th birthday party. Frodo was, in fact, only nineteen at the time, but Gandalf remembered it like it was only the previous day. You see, Frodo (being then a mischievous lad) liked playing tricks on everyone. He would put eggs in Bilbo's chairs, bugs in Marigold and Rosie's hair, or salt in Sam's drinks. He never meant to hurt anyone; it was just for a bit of fun. However, one day he made the mistake of playing one of his tricks on Gandalf at the Green Dragon. He made the old wizard sit on a tack. That hurt Gandalf's pride. Badly. Ever since, Gandalf had an obvious disliking towards the young hobbit—hatred even.

"And that's why," finished Gandalf, proudly.

Saruman stared, silent and incredulous. Gandalf didn't like the inscrutable look on his fellow wizard's face. "Well?"

"You hate someone because they made you sit on a tack?"

"And why not?"

"Hm…"

"I plan to kill him, actually."

"What? Hatred is one thing, but murder is another. You're not serious."

"I am."

"That's very low, you know."

"I know."

"I can't let you do it."

"I was hoping you would help me."

"I'll help you…right up to the top of my tower, until you come to your senses!"

"Do your worst!"

Their altercation came to blows. Gandalf and Saruman fought staff to staff, but Saruman eventually prevailed, sending his friend-turned-adversary to the top of the tower of Orthanc.

Some time later, it became evident that Gandalf had escaped.

"This won't do at all," growled Saruman. "He has sprouted wings and flown away, had help in flying away, fell off the tower while we weren't looking and somehow survived the fall (or became invisible when he died), or he became invisible and he's still up on the tower, or found a way to vanish and reappear elsewhere."

"Yep, good logic, chief," grunted Lurtz, head of the fourth regiment M.E. peace corps.

"Right you are, my good Lurtz," continued Saruman. "I've definitely had time to think this through. In light of recent events, a new task faces us. You and your elites are to search out and rescue one hobbit, Frodo Baggins, and fetch him back here to Isengard. His life depends upon it."

"Yes, sir!" Lurtz turned to attend to his duty.

"And Lurtz?"

"Yes?"

"Remember the policy: alive and unspoiled."

* * *

As Gandalf traveled a deserted back road toward the Shire, he heard the telltale rustling of a paper. He brought his horse to a halt and dismounted, stopping to pick up a crinkled poster that had clearly blown quite a ways from home. It read, in exquisite calligraphy:  
"Auditions Thursday for new reality show  
"Title: The Lord of the Rings  
"See Lord Elrond of Imladris  
"Located on 43rd Bywater Lane  
"Red tent  
"4:00 sharp!  
"Actors to be rewarded handsomely!"

Gandalf looked up. "Today's Thursday!" he cried. "And it's 3:00! I can still make it, and then, I'll be rich!"

He remounted and gave the horse rein, then ate up ground towards the auditions. When he finally reached his destination, he saw Elrond and his crew making ready to depart.

"Lord Elrond!" he shouted. "I have come for the auditions!"

"You're late," sneered Elrond. "I'm sorry."

"Nonsense!" countered Gandalf. "A wizard is never late!"

Elrond would have said something rather unsavory in response, I'm sure, if he didn't happen to be in need of an actor that looked somewhat like Gandalf. "Very well," he said, suppressing his urge to snap. "I suppose I can be merciful. We need one more actor anyway."

"Oh, good. Who do I get to be?"

"You can just be yourself. I had in mind the part of a pompous, clownish, inept, aged imbecile. You'll be great for the part. No acting required, I hope."

"Wha—? A – clownish – imbecile? I—"

"Do you want the part or not? Do you want the money?"

"Oh, all right," said Gandalf with ₤ signs in his eyes. "With whom will I be working?"

"Do you know the hobbit, Frodo?"

Gandalf's eyes widened. "Frodo Baggins?"

"Yes, you know him, then."

"Um…yes…I do."

"Ah, excellent. This is a great opportunity." Elrond noticed that Gandalf looked perfectly displeased. "What? Is there something wrong with Frodo?"

"To say that would be the understatement of the age."

"You don't like him very well, I take it. Does he know you don't like him?"

"No. I think not."

"Then there shouldn't be a problem, but in order to make the show work, you're going to have to cooperate."

"How?" questioned Gandalf irately.

"Well… try doing the opposite of what you want to do. If you are annoyed, just smile. If you want to yell, sing or laugh instead. And if you can't bring yourself to do even that, just smoke your pipe and attempt to alleviate the tension in your mind. Think of the money you're going to make! One more thing, wizard. You must also remember that my crew could be filming you at any given time. You must not fail. You must stay in character! Understood?"

To this, Gandalf reluctantly agreed. Elrond's crew provided a sturdy wagon for Gandalf, stocked with assorted fireworks. They decided that making him a fireworks expert would make his character more interesting, in an eccentric sort of way. They also gave him another staff to replace the one that he had lost at Orthanc. Gandalf soon departed for Bag End. As he traveled, he was feeling immensely downcast, so he began to sing: "The road goes ever on and on…."

"You're late!" came a familiar voice. Gandalf was so shaken that his pipe fell out of his mouth. The wagon subsequently came to a stop as the wizard looked up and saw Frodo.

"A wizard is never late," he said irritably, "nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to." Gandalf would have exploded with anger at that point had he not remembered what Elrond had told him to do. He instead broke into a laugh, followed by Frodo.

"It's so wonderful to see you, Gandalf!" the hobbit exulted, jumping into the wagon and hugging the wizard. Gandalf's laugh grew ever louder…. Presently, the wizard managed to return to the task at hand. "Frodo, I…"

"Sorry, Gandalf, I have to go. Party business, you know."

"Wait…I. GRRRRRRR." Gandalf huffed at his primary failure, but continued to Bilbo's as planned. He hadn't even had a chance to say most of his lines.

He hoped his next encounter would be more productive. He knocked on Bilbo's door with his staff. It promptly cracked in half.

"Stupid prop," muttered Gandalf, tossing the broken staff aside.

"Go away!" a voice said. "We don't want any visitors, well-wishers, or distant relations!"

"And what about very old fiends?" responded Gandalf, misreading his line.

"Psst! Very old friends! Friends!" hissed a voice from a nearby bush. "And don't throw things. You just knocked out my chief cameraman with your staff, you neophyte!"

Bilbo suddenly opened the door. "Gandalf!" he said, giving him a hug. "Oh, Gandalf! I didn't know you were coming."

"I oft come and go unexpectedly," replied the wizard (with a rich laugh.) "I wouldn't be myself if I didn't."

"Very true," agreed Bilbo. "Oh, I was just about to have tea. Why don't you join me?"

"I'm not hungry. By the way, is _Frodo_ around anywhere?"

"I don't know where that boy is!" replied Bilbo, feigning impatience. "He's always running off these days. Probably off on party business. He'll be along shortly. Please, Gandalf! Do come in!"

"I'll come in, but only for a short while. I have some other business I should like to attend to before the festivities."

"Would you like tea?" asked Bilbo. "Or maybe something a little stronger? I've got a few bottles of the old—"

"Just tea, thank-you," said Gandalf impatiently, but you wouldn't have known it, for he was smiling all the while. However, he began laughing uproariously when he hit his head on the ceiling chandelier, the overhead arch, and the window curtain rod.

"I think there's someone at the door!" called Bilbo, from his kitchen.

"No," answered Gandalf (with a furious laugh). "That was just my head hitting your impiously low ceiling."

* * *

Some time later, after the evening had set in, and the time of the long-awaited party drew nigh, Gandalf and Bilbo still sat sipping their tea.

"Bilbo," said Gandalf slowly, "I think you had best leave the Shire."

"Why?" questioned Bilbo. "I'm happy here."

"Bilbo," said Gandalf again, holding up a shiny object and dangling it back and forth, "I think you had best leave the Shire." His voice had sunk to a low monotone.

"But…but…," squeaked Bilbo, looking like a hobbit in great turmoil of mind.

"Bilbo," said Gandalf, watching the hobbit's glassy, transfixed eyes, "I think you had best leave the Shire."

This time, Bilbo said nothing.

"Now we're getting somewhere," said Gandalf. "You will not remember that I told you anything. You will think you thought of it yourself. You will bring it up as if I had never told you." Gandalf hid the medallion away somewhere, and Bilbo snapped out of his hypnosis.

"Oh, dear me!" he exclaimed, rubbing his eyes. "I am growing old! I very nearly fell asleep, just now!"

Gandalf raised an eyebrow.

"There was something I meant to talk to you about," continued Bilbo. "Ah, yes! I'm going away—to Rivendell. I want to see mountains again—mountains, Gandalf! And then find somewhere quiet where I can finish my book."

"I don't know," said Gandalf, feigning hesitation. "Do you really want to?"

"Yes, of course! It's the only way."

"Very well," sighed the wizard. "Leave all the arrangements to me."

* * *

After tea, Gandalf sought out one Meriadoc Brandybuck, a well-known young hobbit, and had many words with him. After a brief discussion, there was a good deal of bargaining, and a price was set. Merry Brandybuck departed Gandalf with a sinister task.

* * *

That night, at Bilbo's party, everyone was having a good time laughing, eating and dancing. Gandalf lit off a few fireworks, but he seemed overall to be rather disinterested in the whole affair. What one might have noticed had one been paying any amount of attention is that Gandalf appeared almost edgy, as if some great plan of his was soon to be in effect and he wanted it to go off perfectly. However, no one (for everyone was actually quite occupied with the celebration) really noticed anything was amiss, except Frodo. First, he saw Merry slipping off to talk to Pippin. Soon afterwards, the devious duo stole off to Gandalf's firework cart. Frodo thought little of this, however, and went to watch the other Hobbits dancing.

Suddenly, there was a high-pitched shriek, and Frodo turned to see one of the closer pavilions fly about ten feet up in the air. A burst of flame followed, after which a red streak shot upwards into the night sky.

All faces filled with shock and surprise.

The red streak turned about, seemed to expand into the shape of a great red dragon, and swooped down upon the crowd. Oddly enough, it was heading directly for Frodo! The young hobbit whirled around and sped away to locate cover, which he soon found manifested in the form of a toppled table. The dragon flew over in the nick of time, just missing him. Frodo saw it streak away into the night, followed by a large explosion and the telltale shrieking of fireworks—a brilliant display! The dragon had burst into an incredible profusion of dazzling reddish colors all across the dark sky.

Frodo would have been impressed had his life not just been imperiled. He was actually rather upset. While the other Hobbits gaped at the firework's fading remnants, Frodo approached Gandalf.

"Excuse me," he said crossly, "but can't you keep your fireworks in hand? You almost killed me!"

Gandalf was laughing, pleased with Frodo's annoyance AND the opportunity to use one of the lines of which Frodo had deprived him that morning. "If you're referring to the incident with the dragon, I was barely involved!"

* * *

After Bilbo's infamous disappearing trick, which Frodo figured was a hoax, especially since Gandalf didn't seem at all surprised, Frodo found the sagacious wizard inside Bag End, examining with scrutiny a golden ring.

"Where's Bilbo?" he asked hesitantly, ascertaining that something wasn't right here.

"He's gone to stay with the Elves; he has left you Bag End, along with all his possessions. The Ring is yours now."

"Is that all?"

"Uh…," said Gandalf, looking very hard at a few charred-looking sheets of paper he held in his other hand.

"What's that?" Frodo inquired.

"What?"

"The papers."

"Oh—uh—nothing, nothing," stuttered Gandalf. "Just some—uh—notes I took when Bilbo was talking with me."

"About what? And why do they look burnt?"

"It's—uh—well—a secret," said Gandalf. "He didn't want you to know. I accidentally lit them on fire when I was... uh... smoking earlier. Yeah."

"Um… I guess he can have his secrets," Frodo replied doubtfully. "And you really ought to be more careful."

"Well," continued Gandalf, "there _is_ something Bilbo wanted you to know."

"There is?"

"Yes…it's about the Ring," Gandalf glanced at the papers and went on. "The Ring is evil, Frodo! You cannot lose—" a quick glance at the paper, "um—use it."

"Why would I even want to use it? What can it do?"

"It can—um…" Gandalf peeked at the paper once more. "It can make you invisible."

"Invisible?"

"Uh, yes, it can make you invisible."

"And why can't I use it?"

"Because…um…it…um…is evil!"

Frodo took the Ring from Gandalf and inspected it carefully. Without warning, there came from it a faint whisper—"Ash nazg…"

Frodo cried out in alarm.

"You see?" said Gandalf, who knew of the tiny two-way microphone hidden in the ring. "It is evil!"

"I know!"

"Then why did you ask?"

"Because I just wanted to annoy you," laughed Frodo.

Gandalf appeared immensely perturbed at this comment, forgetting that he was supposed to smile when he was angry, and examined the paper for a very long time afterward.

"Oh…," he said. "I see I have to exeunt out the front—uh—never mind."

"WHAT?"

"I said—um—I see…. Uh, I have to practice in the—um—hunt?"

"'Exeunt' and 'practice' don't rhyme," snapped Frodo, unconvinced.

"Fine, you want the truth?"

"No, I want you to tell me a lie," Frodo said sarcastically. "Of course I want the truth!"

"Well…" said Gandalf cautiously. "I… oh, what's this?" He surreptitiously snatched a piece of paper that had fallen down the chimney (almost unnoticeably attached to a fishhook) and furtively began to read it.

There was a sharp rap at the window.

"What?" cried Gandalf, staring intently at the paper. "It doesn't say anything about that in the—oh…" He ran over to the window. "Confounded old Samwise Gamgee!" (Very obviously reading off the paper.) "Have you been eavesdropping?" He grabbed Sam and pulled him in through the window.

"I haven't been dropping no eaves, sir, honest!" pleaded Sam. "I was just cuttin' the grass under the window there! You follow me?" He brandished his clippers convincingly.

Gandalf decided to skip to the point. "Anyway…." He turned to the last page of his papers. "The Ring is evil, and I want you to take it to the Preening—uh—Prancing Pony, where I will meet you. I have some other jobs to attend to while you journey there… Oh yes, do not travel by road. And Sam can go with you."

Frodo glanced down at the Ring dubiously.

"Oh, um, Frodo," Gandalf continued, turning around towards the two Hobbits, "go to Farmer Maggot's. There, I have some help for you. They will take you to the Preen… Prancing Pony." Gandalf opened the door and walked out, slamming it behind him.

Frodo opened the envelope and took the Ring from inside. "Something strange is going on," he said, holding it up in the candlelight, "and I plan to find out what it is."

"Well, we best start packin' if we're going to be leavin' in the mornin'."

"Yes, that would probably be best."

* * *

"Elrond! Elrond!" cried Gandalf, rushing into the elven lord's makeshift study, held in a large red pavilion outside the Shire.

"What?" mumbled the elf, trying to appear terribly bothered. "What do you want, you old bum?" He dipped his quill pen in some ink and Gandalf heard the subtle scritch-scratch of writing.

"Uh… I, um… what I mean to say is that I… well—!"

"Out with it!" barked Elrond, looking up briefly, his eyes darker than usual.

"I burnt my script!" Gandalf blurted.

"You. Burnt. Your. Script." The voice was that of quiet restrained anger that might become rather unrestrained at any moment.

Gandalf took the hint early and fell to his knees to grovel.

"YOU BURNT YOUR SCRIPT!" The elf-lord entirely flew off the handle. "NO WONDER YOU COMPLETELY RUINED—!"

"I'm sorry—please don't fire me! I'm only a lowly wizard with no other way to make a—"

"Number one: NEVER interrupt me again!" roared Elrond. "Number two: don't waste my valuable time with your petty excuses! You have fifteen seconds to convince me not to fire you."

To be continued...


	2. Chapter II - To the Prancing Pony

**Chapter II – To the Prancing Pony!**

Frodo and Sam began the next morning at 8:00 sharp, after packing their haversacks, in which they stuffed large quantities of celery and peanut butter, truffles, and mushrooms.

"Ready, Sam?" inquired Frodo, shouldering his bag.

"Almost." Sam picked up a wooden box and dropped it into his bag. "Now I am."

At length, they embarked on their set-up "quest."

* * *

Elsewhere in the Shire, Merry and Pippin were looting vegetables from Farmer Maggot.

"Pippin!" cried Merry. "Shh…It's Frodo! Gandalf told us that if we ever saw him, we had to—"

"We have to what?" asked Pippin, dropping a vegetable or two.

"Oh, never mind!" snapped Merry. "I'll take care of it! I don't even know why I hired you to help me!"

* * *

Frodo and Sam proceeded leisurely through a cornfield, admiring the lovely weather and the beautiful green of the cornstalks.

"We're still in the Shire!" Frodo seemed fond of saying to assuage Sam's almost constant fears. "What could possibly happen?"

Suddenly, Merry and Pippin burst out, arms full of vegetables.

"Run, Frodo!" cried Merry.

"You've been into Farmer Maggot's crop!" presumed Sam.

"You'll know the devil when I catch up with you!" roared the enraged Farmer Maggot from uncomfortably nearby.

Everyone turned and ran, Merry leading the way. You see, he happened to know that Farmer Maggot's field rested atop a terrific cliff, and planned to "accidentally" push Frodo off. Unfortunately, for him, with the pell-mell running of the others, he could make nothing of his plan. He halted right at the brink.

Frodo, Sam, and Pippin attempted to stop, but slammed right into Merry, knocking them all off the cliff, which turned out to be more of a hill with a steep acclivity than a precipice.

They rolled for some time before finally coming to rest in a heap at the bottom.

"Oh, confounded Brandybucks and Tooks!" muttered Sam, pulling himself up and reaching down to help Frodo. He glared at Merry and Pippin in annoyance. "What did you mean by knockin' us down the hill, hm?"

"It was an accident, wasn't it?" put in Pippin.

"Well, whatever," continued Sam. "But don't you go doin' it again!"

* * *

Elrond's face softened towards the groveling wizard. "Very well, I will give you one more chance. Here's another copy of your part. And be sure to study it beforehand next time! You almost clued off Frodo. But as it is, it all worked out. We gained another clueless actor – that Sam. He will be one of the few who doesn't know that the whole Ring business is just a cleverly planned reality show."

* * *

The four Hobbits trudged through the muck, slanting rain vehemently stinging their faces under their hoods, clothes damp through. Gandalf had said they should get to Bree, so that was where they were heading, though no one could say whether they were going the right way. Merry and Pippin had begun to regret taking up the job. They plodded slowly behind Frodo and Sam so that they could confide in each other.

"So…how do you plan to do it?" asked Merry.

"I'm not sure, but I'm not worried about it," replied Pippin.

"You wouldn't be!" said Merry, rolling his eyes.

Sam glanced back suspiciously. He didn't like it when others whispered together. Especially these two. They had a reputation to live down and their eager pledge to aid Frodo and himself still hadn't served as much of a convincer.

Lightning struck a nearby tree with an astonishingly loud report, followed by a splintering crack. The tree, wherever it had been, was certainly destroyed, but the fire was extinguished before it started.

This only served as the precursor to a greater fright. An ear-piercing shriek rent the air and fell heavy on their ears.

"Black riders!" cried Frodo.

Everyone took off at top speed. Had they remained a moment longer, they might have heard the laugh of a hobbit child, who had been paid by a certain elf to play a recording of a Nazgûl screech.

To the Hobbits' relief, they noticed a light off in the distance as they sloshed quickly through the mud in pure terror.

"Bree! There it is!" announced Frodo breathlessly. "Hurry up! It's gaining on us!"

They finally reached the gates of Bree and desperately pounded on them. After receiving admittance from a very irritable gate warden, they entered the town, panting heavily. The street was a mass of branching rivulets flowing with mud. The Hobbits tried their best to avoid them as they made their way to the swinging sign in the distance – the one with the raring horse emblem that proclaimed "The Prancing Pony" in bold letters.

Once inside said establishment, the four Hobbits immediately felt uneasy. Being around so many humans was discomfiting, to say the least, and even more so because the aforementioned humans looked suspicious, grimy, and completely wasted. Especially the hooded one smoking his pipe in the corner and staring at them fixedly. Trying to ignore all the awkward glances, Frodo stepped up to the tall counter to speak with the innkeeper. "Excuse me, sir! Ahem. Excuse me!" he said, doing his best to sound bold and confident.

"Hang on there," came the good-natured but tired voice of Barliman Butterbur, the innkeeper. Finally, the scraggly, blunt featured man peered over the counter with a pleasantly disposed expression. "Ah, Hobbits! Four of you!"

"We need lodging for the night," Frodo said, rapidly losing his affected confidence. He glanced back at his companions to clarify who he meant by "we." Then Frodo, feeling everyone's eyes on him, blushed and whispered, "We're waiting for Gandalf. Have you seen him, by chance?"

Butterbur became aghast and bewildered and then replied exceptionally loudly, so the Hobbits were certain that _everyone_ in the room could hear. "Gandalf?! Gandalf?! Oh, yes! How could I forget him? Grumpy chap in grey. Wears a pointed hat. Nope. Not seen him for nigh on six months! Why do you ask?!"

Frodo cringed, then collected himself. He thought he heard whispering behind him, but gave it no heed. "Uh, never mind," he answered Butterbur's question hastily. "What about those lodgings?"

"Right!" the innkeeper said, nodding eagerly. Apparently, he didn't get to make use of his Hobbit-sized rooms very often. "This way, young masters!"

After they had settled down for a nice evening meal in their cozy, if somewhat dusty rooms, they began to discuss what to do, since Gandalf clearly had not arrived.

"Well," Merry put in, "we all know Gandalf can be a bit forgetful at times."

"But why would he forget something _this _important?" Frodo questioned, getting increasingly more distraught.

"I wouldn't put it past him," Merry continued, seriously.

Sam and Pippin sipped their ale and looked on. Frodo sighed and continued to pick at his food, lost in worried thought.

* * *

"This is perfect!" exulted Elrond, rubbing his hands together with glee. "They didn't even suspect that Butterbur was a pawn and now we've got them right where we want them!" The elf was in his new, temporary "director's room," which was actually one of the best rooms at the Prancing Pony, on the opposite side of the building from the Hobbit-sized rooms.

"Let's just hope they don't spot any of the hidden cameras," muttered Elladan, one of Elrond's trusty twin sons. He had been hired, along with his brother, Elrohir, to aid in the filming of the show. He and Elrohir had run themselves ragged, hiding cameras and microphones everywhere to be certain they didn't miss anything juicy.

"Those halfwits wouldn't know a camera from a toilet bucket," Elrond said dismissively. "Don't worry your head about that."

"Oh!" Elrohir piped up. "Great idea, Ada! That's where I'll hide the next camera."

Elladan and Elrond exchanged disturbed glances.

Elrond cleared his throat. "Elrohir, that's… that's not a… not in very good taste. Please tell me you haven't been putting cameras in any other awkward places. The footage editors would be none too pleased, I'm sure."

Elladan made a pained expression. "Don't worry about him, Ada. I'll make him behave."

"Good," said Elrond. "Moving on… the first show has aired. What're the ratings doing?"

"What? You haven't heard?!" Elladan and Elrohir cried, shocked. They often spoke in unison when they were caught off guard.

"Haven't heard what?" echoed Elrond, alarmed. "Good news or bad news?"

"Better than good!" said Elladan. "We're nearly top of the network! We even beat out _Took Dynasty_!"

"I knew it!" Elrond reveled, raising a fist in triumph. "Get those script-writers in here! I want them working around the clock, got it? We need to get those ratings up – I want top viewership!"

"Yes, sir!" said the twins, picking up their father's excitement. They raced out the door.

* * *

Frodo was nearly asleep. Having been particularly finicky about his dinner, he compensated by drinking two pints of ale, and now he sat slumped in his chair, eyes heavy. Sam watched him worriedly while finishing off Frodo's uneaten meal.

Earlier, Merry and Pippin had been arguing about who would get to bathe first. They then had a thumb war to settle the matter. The result was a tie (somehow), so they had decided to bathe _together_. Frodo felt a chill run down his spine as he heard the giggling and splashing emanating from the bathroom. Sam just pursed his lips and went on looking back and forth between his master and his master's nearly finished dinner.

Suddenly, the heavy door burst open and a cloaked figure darted inside. "Frodo Baggins!" said a hoarse, manly voice.

Frodo merely tipped backward in his chair and hit his head on the stone floor.

Sam shot up, looked accusingly at the newcomer, and rushed to help Frodo. "It'll be all your fault if Mr. Frodo's got a concussion… or… or a stomachache… or something," Sam muttered crabbily. Then he realized there was a strange, unsavory-looking person in the room who had not yet introduced himself. "Oh! Well, who're you?"

"I am called Strider," said the cloaked figure, grandly. "Gandalf the Wizard has sent me this letter telling me of your quest!" He produced an envelope from his muddy leather jerkin and waved it at Sam.

"Is that so?" said Sam suspiciously. "Then why'd you burst in like that and all?"

"It's alright, Sam," said Frodo, regaining consciousness, rubbing his injured cranium. "I believe him. How else would he know about the… the quest?"

"Good point," Sam admitted.

"You're making a wise choice, young Halflings, in trusting such a noble and wise and dashing and ruggedly handsome ranger as myself," said Strider. Frodo and Sam made nauseated faces at each other. "Anyway," the ranger continued, "I am to lead you to Rivendell, where the… piece-of-jewelry-which-shall-not-be-named… will be safe."

"Good," said Frodo. "Well, I'm ready. Why don't we go tonight?"

"No!" shrieked two voices from inside the bathroom. Towel-clad Merry and Pippin burst out the door. "No, no, no… not a good idea, Frodo!" they said, more or less in unison.

"And why not?" demanded Frodo. "The sooner we get to Rivendell the better."

"No," said Merry, "it's just not a good idea to leave… uh… now. In the dark. When all the uglies and baddies and things that go bump in the night are prowling about for a juicy bit of hobbit. You follow me?"

Frodo raised an eyebrow. "Um… hello? We have a studly ranger who'll protect us from all that!"

Now Strider looked uncomfortable. "Of course!" He chuckled nervously. "Of course I am quite capable of… defending all you vulnerable little Halflings from… all that. I just… don't know about leaving now, at this particular moment."

"Oh no!" Merry and Pippin shrieked, rushing toward the window, doing their utmost to look terrified. They were horrible actors. They seemed to think being terrified meant flailing their arms spuriously and yodeling. "The Nazgûl! The Naz-… er… Black Riders! Black Riders!" they began carrying on, running in circles and sneaking glances at Frodo to see if he was buying it.

Frodo crossed his arms. "Nice, guys. Very convincing. Now come away from the window before someone sees you acting like lunatics."

Just then, there was a spine-tingling shriek outside, followed by several others.

"See? See?" Merry and Pippin shrilled. "We told you!"

Frodo's eyes widened. "Under the bed! Quick, you all. Sam, hurry! Get under the bed."

"Don't need to tell _me_ twice, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, quivering like jelly on a string. He dove under the nearest Hobbit-sized bed. Or at least he tried to. Unfortunately, he was too fat. He spent the next few uncomfortable minutes attempting to wedge himself under the bed, much like a badger struggling to burrow back into its collapsed den.

* * *

Elladan and Elrohir were in hysterics. "Oh, Elbereth, this is too much," Elrohir gasped, doubled over.

"The drama! The tension!" Elladan chimed in. "We're gonna smash the ratings with this, it's just that good."

Elrond appeared pleased, as well, but didn't make as much of a display of it as his sons did. "I think the fat one is setting himself up to be the source of much comic relief," he mused. "And getting my (unfortunate) adopted son involved? Brilliant. When Aragorn finds out his long-dreamed-of epic quest is bogus, he'll have an emotional breakdown and I can finally send him off to the loony bin—and away from Arwen."

* * *

"Are they gone, Mr. Frodo?" Sam peeped timidly from beneath the bed.

"Quiet, Sam," hissed Frodo, beside him. "For all we know, they could be in the room right now."

"Oh, don't say that, Mr. Frodo." Sam was on the verge of tears. "I never wanted to die wedged under a bed. I'm claustrophobic."

Frodo sighed, half rolling his eyes. "You give us away and being claustrophobic'll be the least of your worries." ~


	3. Chapter III - Weathertop

**Chapter III - Weathertop**

"Whew, that sure was a close one, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, who still hadn't gotten over the past evening's run-in with Black Riders. Actually, the "Black Riders" were costumed humans who had filed into the room, made a great show of shredding the bedding and stabbing the feather pillows, then left "lip-synching," if you will, to pre-recorded shrieks.

After they had gone, it was revealed that Strider had fainted dead away, which he desperately denied. "I was playing dead!" he had protested, when asked about it. "No one ever stabs things that look dead! At least, they don't in all the stories."

Frodo, astutely realizing that Strider's manly pride hung in the balance, had effectively changed the subject. "Oh, look, Sam. You haven't quite finished all my dinner yet!"

Well, now Frodo, Sam, Merry, Pippin, and Strider found themselves traversing the wilds. Through brush and high desert scrub, though swampland and meadows, they marched mile after mile, day after day. The only thing that was missing was an epic "traveling" soundtrack, which Lord Elrond added in post-production.

By the end of the first day, food had run out. Frodo had worried this might happen, but it seems none of the others had even conceived of it.

"Oh no!" cried Merry and Pippin in unison. "Whatever shall we do?"

Suddenly, food began to fly over the tall bushes – apples, oranges, sausage links, and biscuits. It was like _Cloudy with a Chance of Meatballs_: Middle Earth Edition.

"What the deuce is going on?!" Frodo yelled.

"Don't question it!" said Merry. "It's part of the magic of this place. It rains food every day at a certain time."

"Then why isn't there a bunch of rotting food on the ground?"

"Because… uh… because the animals eat it. All of it. Every day."

Frodo shook his head. "Very peculiar." An apple hit him in the nose. "Hey!"

Sam didn't seem to mind. "Say, Mr. Frodo, when we get done with the quest an' all, what do you think about maybe… settlin' down here or somethin'?"

"Oh, Sam, don't be ridiculous. Live out here in the wild? Just because it happens to rain food?"

"Somethin' wrong with that?"

It continued to rain food every night, on them, as they continued on their way. Frodo grew even more suspicious based on the fact that the food rained _only_ on them, and nowhere else around them. Merry and Pippin were, of course, in on Elrond's plan to facilitate the audience not having to watch the company starve to death right off the bat, but Strider and Sam didn't seem to mind much either.

"Merry must know more of these lands than I do," he admitted. "Strange, isn't it? To be such a handsome devil as myself and not have all the answers."

"Strange, indeed," said Frodo, rolling his eyes.

By the fourth night, they spotted, on a hillock in the distance, a bizarre, jagged-edged tower rising above the landscape.

"What's that?" said Sam, eyes wide.

"It's obviously a… a haunted castle!" said Strider. "We'd best stay away. I wouldn't want any of you little ones to… uh… get hurt. Or get eaten by ghosts."

"Here you go," said Merry, nudging the ranger. "Here's a map."

Aragorn took the map and peered at it very hard. "Oh. I see. It's the great watchtower of Amon Sûl."

"You know," said Frodo, "that map might've come in handy during the four days we walked in circles to get here..."

"It says, 'Perfectly safe,'" said Aragorn, apparently not hearing Frodo. "And 'a good place to camp.'"

"Alright!" said Merry and Pippin, high-fiving.

* * *

"Okay, Ada, they're nearly there," said Elladan. "They're just walking up the slope now."

"It's about time," Elrond muttered. He sighed and shifted in his plush easy chair. The chair had been brought specially from Rivendell for his use, and sat on a matching throw rug inside his director's tent behind Weathertop. "Out of five travelers, you'd think at least _one_ of them would know how to navigate. Should've given 'em the map days ago."

"Yeah, you could've picked smarter Hobbits to be in the know, too," offered Elrohir. "Those Merry and Pippin fellows are dimmer than a shadow inside another shadow's shadow."

"Yes, yes, I know," said Elrond irritably. "But they were eager enough, and I erred in giving them a chance. We're stuck with them, so we'll just have to use them best we can." He turned to Elladan. "So, are the others in position?"

Elladan nodded. "Well, they've had an extra three days to prepare. I certainly hope so."

"Fine, just make sure everything goes off without a hitch."

"Ada, they're big guys covered from head to toe in black robes with no lines. How can they possibly screw up?"

"Don't say that. If you say that, they'll screw up, because that's what _always_ happens anytime anyone makes a statement like that."

"Okay."

* * *

"Mr. Frodo," said Sam.

"What?" said Frodo.

"I don't like this place. Not one bit."

"But the map said it was perfectly safe," said Frodo, trying to be reassuring. "Don't you trust the map?"

"But, Mr. Frodo, the sky is greenish. And it's foggy. And I keep hearing these strange whispering voices wailing, "Eat at McDonalds! Eat at McDonalds!"

"I know. I hear the voices, too, Sam. But you must be strong. I think it's just the ancient spirits that still indwell this ruin."

"Ahhh!" cried Sam, edging closer to Frodo. "Ancient spirits? You shouldn't have said that. You really shouldn't have. Oh, my. I'll never be able to calm down now."

"Oh look!" cried Merry, reading off a cue card in the distance. "A bundle! It might contain something useless… uh, I mean use_ful_."

"I'll be the judge of that," said Strider, trying to seem as though he were actually in command. He knelt down and began to lift the lid of the suspicious leather bundle. "Hmm… swords. Hobbit-sized swords. How fortuitous!"

"Look, another happy coincidence," Frodo muttered. Something fishy was definitely going on here, and he planned to get to the bottom of it. Eventually. Maybe Lord Elrond would know. He would ask him when they arrived in Rivendell.

The hobbits each accepted one of the shiny swords from Strider and the group continued on their way up the hill. When they had entered the crumbling stone gateway, they found themselves in a strange, circular structure. A ruin, of course, and creepy as all get out. The leering statues with glowing red eyes didn't help.

"Well, what do we do now?" asked Frodo.

Strider was uncertain, but didn't want to seem so. "Why, you young Hobbits get some rest, of course!" he said, boldly. "I'm going to go have a look around!"

"But…," said Frodo, worriedly, but Strider raised a hand to stop him.

"No buts," he said. "Relax, the map said this place was perfectly safe. Ever been lied to by a map? Didn't think so."

With that, Strider strutted away, trying to look cool and manly. He was actually going off in the bushes to relieve himself, but he never would have told them that, being much too dignified and all.

"Sleep, Frodo," said Merry.

Pippin nodded supportively. "Yes, Frodo, you should sleep. It'd do you some good. I think."

Frodo felt severely creeped out. No way was he going to be able to relax enough to sleep. "Do you not see the statues with glowing red eyes or something?" he nearly exploded. "Does this LOOK like a good place to sleep?"

"Well, uh…," said Merry, still not very good at ad-libbing when he was off-script.

"It's better than some places!" Pippin chimed.

"Really? What could be worse than _this_?"

Pippin spoke up again. "How 'bout trying to sleep in a small cage with a giant lizard, a giant snake, and a giant crab?"

Frodo was silent a moment. Then he released a lengthy exhale. "Shut up, Pippin."

After several more unsuccessful attempts to get Frodo to go to sleep, Merry sneaked behind Frodo and clubbed him over the head with the butt of his sword. Sam, who had been determinedly tucking into the last of the biscuits, didn't seem to notice until a few minutes afterward.

"Mr. Frodo!" he cried, scrambling over to his unconscious master.

"Shhh," said Merry. "Quiet. He's sleeping."

"Sleeping?" said Pippin. "But I thought we—"

Merry thumped Pippin in the back, laughing. "We helped him get to sleep, right Pip?"

"Right," said Pippin, nodding and grinning.

Merry and Pippin then proceeded to start a fire. At least, they _tried_ to start a fire, but had no woodcraft whatsoever. Finally, Lord Elrond sent some Elves dressed as cupcakes to distract Sam while other Elves in black spandex rushed in, built a fire, and disappeared.

"Oh," said Sam, turning back to the others. "I must've been seein' things. I thought for sure there was a bunch of cupcakes runnin' around out there. So you two finally got a fire built? Good, it'll keep Mr. Frodo warm."

"Pippin," said Merry, "hand me the food haversack. I think I fancy some tomatoes and bacon."

When Frodo regained consciousness, he became aware of three things. First, that the occipital portion of his head hurt, second, that he smelled bacon cooking, and third, that there was a fire burning beside him. He shot upright. "Put it out, you fools! Put it out! You'll let every evildoer in six leagues know right where we are!"

"Wha—?" said Merry, feigning ignorance.

Frodo stamped on the fire to get his point across. His toe hair burst into flame and he spent the next minute flailing about while a horrified Sam screamed and tried to dump a water cask over him. Eventually, between the four of them, they managed to put Frodo (and the fire) out.

"Whew, that was close, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, panting.

"Yes, it was," said Frodo, glaring at Merry and Pippin accusingly.

Just then, nine giant figures in black, tattered robes stalked into the ring of ruins.

Frodo and Sam screamed and hugged each other. The figures stepped slowly closer, preceded by a dense, crawling mist.

"Frodo," said Merry. "Quick! Put on the Ring! Hide!"

Too terrified to think, Frodo reached in his pocket and put on the Ring. Just as he did, an elf hiding in a chunk of the ruins tossed a handful of pink, hallucinogenic powder in Frodo's face.

"Gah!" Frodo yelled, swiping at his eyes. When next he opened them, he noticed that his vision was out of focus. It was like everything around him was smudging and smearing, shifting left and right. And then figures in white approached through the wavering environment – sinister figures with gaunt faces and hollow eyes. "No! No!" he pleaded, as they reached for the Ring on his finger.

The foremost figure then pulled a sword… and stabbed Frodo clean in the shoulder.

* * *

"Ooh, nasty," said Elladan, cringing. "It almost looks real."

"Yes," said Elrond, the corners of his mouth quirking up slightly. "And more importantly, it will _feel_ real to him. He's not in any danger, of course. It's all in his mind. And since we can guess at (more or less) what he's seeing, we'll create his 'Ring World' sequence in post-production, with CGI."

"Brilliant, Ada!" said Elrohir. "This is fantastic. Oh, the pathos of it all. It gets you right… here." He put a hand over his heart.

"Oh, don't be so melodramatic," said Elrond.

* * *

Strider, having conveniently found a lit torch upon returning to the ruined watchtower, picked it up, thinking it would be nice to see where he was going. Just then, he heard screaming and cries for help coming from up ahead.

"Oh no!" he said. "The hobbits are in trouble." He broke into a sprint, quickly planning his dramatic entrance. A minute later, he leapt into the arena, spuriously waving the torch in one hand and the sword in the other. "I'll save you, hobbits!" he yodeled. "Back, back, you monsters!"

The Black Riders, on cue, turned tail and waddled back out of the arena and away. The Nazgûl scream track blared deafeningly loudly in the background as they went. Strider made a great show of sniffing at them, unimpressed. "Yeah, that'll teach 'em!" he said, smirking, fist-pounding himself. "That'll teach 'em to tangle with my damsels… er, _hobbits_ in distress."

* * *

Elrond face-palmed, repulsed.

"There, there, Ada," Elrohir said reassuringly, "we want to blow his bubble big before we pop it."

"That's right," Elladan chimed in. "Just wait'll he finds out none of his heroic deeds were even real."

"I suppose you're right," Elrond agreed, nodding slowly. "But it doesn't make it any easier to watch."

* * *

"Strider," said Merry, reading off another hidden cue card, "would you please stop congratulating yourself and help us? Frodo's been stabbed!"

"Oh, right," said Strider, leaping over to the three hobbits gathered around Frodo. "Ooh, that looks bad. What should we do?"

"Aren't you a ranger, Strider?" asked Merry. "Don't you have some healing skills?"

"Of course I have healing skills!" said Strider, loudly. He shoved his way between Sam and Pippin to get at Frodo. "Hmmm… let's see. Pointy object definitely went in right there." He poked Frodo in the shoulder, and the hobbit yelped.

"Don't do that!" said Sam protectively, shoving Strider away.

"And here it is!" said Pippin helpfully, holding up the "Morgul Blade."

"Nasty!" said Strider, taking the knife. The blade turned to dust in his hand. He yipped, swiping at his clothes. "Definitely magical, definitely evil. Yeah, he's probably gonna die."

"Oh, _thanks_, that's really helpful," Frodo moaned, beginning to turn green. ~


	4. Chapter IV - To the Ford

**Chapter IV – To the Ford**

"Okay, okay, I know what to do," said Merry, trying to give the impression that he was desperately pulling a cloak of control over his distress. As previously mentioned, Merry was an abysmal actor, and therefore only succeeded in looking giddy. Fortunately, no one present besides Frodo could tell good acting from bad acting, and Frodo was too greatly under the influence of hallucinogens to notice.

"Alright, then," said Strider irritably. "What?"

"We'll send Frodo ahead on the pony and—."

"What pony?!"

"That pony," said Merry, pointing at Bill the Pony, who had just conveniently appeared. "What, you didn't know we had a pony?"

Sam crossed his arms. "You mean we had a pony all along and we had to carry all our haversacks here?"

"Uh..." said Merry. Another cue card lowered down in front of him, but no one else seemed to notice. "We don't have time for this! Frodo's fading fast. We'll send him on ahead with the pony and we'll follow along behind."

"Yeah," said Pippin. "Good idea, Merry."

"_Not_ a good idea," Frodo countered, speech somewhat slurred. He had, by then, removed the Ring once more, which administered a slight counteraction to the hallucinogenic properties of the drug. (It was a very high tech prop, that Ring.) Instead, it left him feeling rather delirious and nauseous. "That pony can't go any faster than we can on foot. Besides, I can't ride in my condition."

* * *

"I'm beginning to think we picked the most inept specimens on this earth," said Elrond.

"Yeah," said Elrohir. "I don't think Aragorn's ranger friends have rubbed off on him much. Even the most basic healer would recognize the wound is fake, and that Frodo's only problem is hallucinogens. He could've counteracted the whole thing with a bit of athelas."

"And the fact that Aragorn hasn't learned a thing about woodcraft surprises you?"

"No. No, not really."

"Okay, well, looks like we're going to have to bail them out yet again." Elrond shook his head in disbelief. "Let's send Arwen. She'll expedite the process of getting them to Rivendell. Put the casting director on finding a couple of guys with legitimate navigational, scouting, fire building, and healing abilities, Elladan. Once the group sets out again after the council meeting, I don't want to have to deal with this anymore."

* * *

Meanwhile, the unfortunate company was still discussing what was to be done.

"You don't have a choice, Frodo," Merry persisted. "Since 'Mister Ranger' here can't do a blooming thing for you, you'll just have to-"

"Something wrong, boys?" said a soothing female voice.

"Arwen, my love!" Strider exulted. "What're you doing here? I had this under control, really I did."

"I'm sure," said Arwen, inwardly rolling her eyes. She twirled her raven black hair around her finger and strutted around the bewildered hobbits. Clearly, she enjoyed playing for the hidden cameras. "Well," she said, finally, "it just so happens that I was riding this way, looking for males in distress, and here you all were. Estel, why don't I take your injured halfling back to Rivendell with me, save you some time?"

"Well," said Strider, not wanting to seem as though he were completely out of viable options (which he was). "I don't know. Maybe I should go instead."

"Not a chance, Estel," said Arwen. "You aren't going to get all the glory here; you should've seen what I had to go through to borrow Asfoloth from Glorfindel."

"Fine, my love," said Strider, defeated. "But be careful."

Arwen laughed a tingly laugh like a bell. "_You_ be careful." She picked up Frodo, gingerly enough, for her part, and put him on the proud white stallion. Then she mounted up behind him and spurred the horse on.

Sam, Merry, Pippin, and Strider watched her go. "Well, that's that," said Strider.

"Now what do we do?" said Sam.

"What's that?!" said Merry, pointing off into the distance.

Aragorn squinted, looking off where Merry had indicated. "Hmm... looks like a light."

"Yeah," said Merry. "Let's follow it!"

"What?" said Sam, aghast. "No way. Uh uh. What if it's a trap?"

"Consult the map, Strider," said Merry, winking at Pippin.

Strider pulled out the map again and studied it for several minutes. "Aha!" he said triumphantly. "Here it is. 'If you see any lights in the distance, follow them. These are magic fairy lights that will lead you to your destination.' Excellent!"

"Great, let's go!"

So Strider, Sam, Merry, and Pippin doggedly followed the strange light throughout most of the night, collapsing from exhaustion in the middle of nowhere at roughly four in the morning.

* * *

"Milord, they're about another day from Rivendell. They're sleeping now."

"Good," mumbled Elrond, rousing from a very satisfying sleep. He sat up slowly. "When they wake up, continue leading them on with breadcrumbs. The map calls them 'fairy crumbs.'"

"Fairy crumbs, milord?"

"Yes, fairy crumbs. Put 'fairy' in front of anything and people throw all caution to the wind."

* * *

The next morning, Frodo and Arwen had nearly reached the Ford of Bruinen. Frodo was still conscious, but feeling rather trippy. Also, he was nauseous, and he kept dry heaving. Arwen noticed this.

"If you ruin the upholstery, so help me…" she muttered.

Just then, the Black Riders came out of nowhere, in hot pursuit. They'd actually been waiting for quite a while by then, so they were rather gung ho when their quarry was finally sighted.

"Slow down, you idiots, slow down!" the sequence coordinator had to hiss in the hidden microphones in their ears when they came dangerously close to outstripping Arwen and her exhausted steed.

The Nazgûl and their horses obediently slowed down.

"Those Black Riders almost had us a moment ago," mused Frodo to no one in particular. "Why'd they slow?"

Arwen rolled her eyes. "It's elf magic, stupid hobbit," she hissed. "I just hit 'em with my special elf force field when they got too close."

"Is that patented?" asked Frodo.

He received a grunt in response.

Arwen spurred Asfoloth down to the ford, the horse's hooves clattering crisply over the smooth river rocks. The Black Riders had maintained a very uniform space behind up till now.

"This is going to be so epic," said Arwen softly. She urged the horse across the shallow expanse, then turned about on the other side to face the "enemy," drawing her scimitar with a bright ring. (Well, technically, swords don't actually ring when drawn; this sound effect was added in post production to up the dramatic tension.)

"Give up the halfling, she-elf!" demanded one of the Black Riders on the far side of the ford.

"Not on your life, bedsheet wearer," snarked Arwen.

Her hidden microphone chirped angrily, "That wasn't the line!"

"Oh, shut up," she muttered. "Mine was awesome, and you know it."

"Who're you talking to?" asked Frodo, somewhat concerned.

"Certainly not _you_," said Arwen.

"Stand by for water effects," came the voice in Arwen's earpiece.

Just as the Black Riders had crossed to the center of the ford, there came a roar like the surging of the ocean tide. Around the bend in the river, a massive wall of white water swelled, rushing downward toward the Nazgûl.

"Holy…," said Frodo, slack jawed. "Now _that's_ elf magic."

The rushing water then took the form of rampant horses, flowing onward down, ever down.

"Wait a second." Frodo raised an eyebrow quizzically. "Why aren't they getting out of the way? They're… they're just standing there. In the middle of the river. Stupid Black Riders are like deer in the torchlight or something."

"Elf magic," said Arwen. "_Obviously_. They're… frozen. Mm-hmm. Frozen in another force field I created."

"Ah," said Frodo.

At last, the Black Riders were washed away (or at least seemed to have been), and it was all very spectacular and dramatic.

"Quick, get him with the knock-out potion," barked the voice in Arwen's earpiece.

"Hold on," she said, huffily. "Yeesh. Can't wait a couple seconds for me to enjoy my moment, I guess. Fine."

Frodo, somewhat perplexed by Arwen's apparently self-directed dialog, shook his head and decided she was probably very, very confused.

Arwen then furtively injected him with an intense knock-out potion, which instantly sent the unlucky hobbit into la-la land.

"Gah," said Arwen. "Finally. I was getting tired of the little jerk."


	5. Chapter V - The Council of Elrond

**Chapter V - The Council of Elrond**

Frodo opened his eyes and then closed them again. Wherever he was, it was blindingly bright, and that was almost as disturbing as opening them on abject blackness. "Where am I? Where am I? Am I dead?"

"You're not dead, you idiot. Would you cut out the melodrama?" Elrond sighed. He was standing at Frodo's bedside in Rivendell and the sun was shining through the skylight, the birds were singing, the leaves were falling, Sam was loudly chewing a sandwich in the corner, and the world was watching.

"Oh, Mr. Frodo! Bless you, you're awake!" Sam sputtered through full mouth, spewing out chunks of sandwich in Frodo's direction.

Frodo sat up a bit, got dizzy, then decided it probably wasn't a good idea and collapsed back onto the pillow. He opened his eyes again, and it really wasn't all that bright after all. He must have imagined it in his delirium.

"Gandalf? You're here, too?" Frodo seemed, for a moment, relieved to see the bumbling old wizard. Then he frowned. "Why didn't you meet us?"

"Uh, sorry about that," said Gandalf, not all that contritely. "Got held up in traffic. You wouldn't _believe_ the Great East Road at rush hour."

"Yeah, I'll bet," said Frodo irritably, crossing his arms. "So I take it this is Rivendell and you're…?"

"Elrond Half-elven, Lord of the Elves of Imladris, the Last Homely House," said Elrond grandly, straightening slightly.

"Alright." Frodo wasn't all that impressed. "So… you have the stupid Ring, I take it? Can I go home now?"

"No," said Elrond, and his slanted eyebrows greeted each other in the middle. "There's a council to be held to decide just what to do with the Ring, and you, as the designated Ring-bearer, must be in attendance."

"Fine," Frodo huffed. "Sam, where are Merry, Pippin, and Strider?"

"Oh," said Sam, chewing thoughtfully. "They're out in the garden… makin' eyes at the pretty elf ladies."

"What?!" cried Elrond. "Why, the lecherous little…" He collected himself. "Uh, never mind. Sam, why don't you and Gandalf get Frodo dressed and ready for the Council meeting? I have… uh… business to attend to."

Elrond made his exit, and shortly afterward, indistinct shouting echoed throughout the courtyard, followed by high-pitched shrieks of terror, which then faded into the distance.

"Odd," said Sam. "That sounded kind o' like Merry and Pippin."

"Never mind that," said Gandalf, smiling in annoyance and trying to act as if he were thoroughly elated that Frodo had survived his run in with the "Black Riders." He'd actually been in a tavern a bit down the road from the Prancing Pony, knocking back ghoulish green ale, while Frodo and co. had been waiting for him to arrive. Gandalf's pride still smarted a little from Elrond's subsequent tongue-lashing. The wizard had only been saved by his minor popularity: most viewers seemed to enjoy the clownish old man's unintentionally amusing antics.

"Glad to see you up," said Sam. "We were that worried about you, weren't we, Mister Gandalf?"

"Sam has _hardly_ left your side," muttered Gandalf ruefully, wishing Sam would leave for a minute or two so he could off Frodo.

"Say, isn't Uncle Bilbo here, Gandalf? Why hasn't he come to see me?"

"I'm sorry, Frodo. He took a wrong turn on his way to Rivendell. Last I heard, he'd made it to the Lonely Mountain and Laketown, where he was given a lifetime pass to their new theme park."

"Theme park?"

"Yes. I actually helped them plan it. The Barrel Ride Aqualoop? The Goblin Town Tilt-a-Whirl? The Fall of Smaug Pendulum? _My_ ideas."

* * *

Arwen sneaked out into the woods to meet her contact, grinning evilly. This would pay that pest, Aragorn, out for following her around all these years! A shadowy figure emerged from the trees and approached her.

"Do you have it?" Arwen asked, urgently.

"Of course, but I still don't see why anyone would want to put that much effort into a bad luck charm!" the stranger replied.

"Just give it to me!" Arwen snapped, snatching at a pouch the figure carried.

"First, the money."

Arwen tossed him a bag of coins in exchange for the pouch. She eagerly opened it and smiled gleefully. Inside was an exact replica of her Evenstar necklace, only with a 100% money-back guarantee to bring the wearer the worst sort of bad luck. It wasn't an entirely necessary measure, she knew, since Aragorn and bad luck were practically a married couple. Still, one couldn't be too careful.

* * *

Elladan and Elrohir hurried through the long hallways of the House of Elrond, microphones and camera equipment piled in their arms. Erestor came around the corner from the other direction, carrying extra copies of the scripts that Elrond had been asking for.

"Don't drop that! This stuff is expensive," Elladan reprimanded his brother, catching a tripod as it started to slip from his grasp.

Elrohir stuck his tongue out at his elder twin. "You sound like Ada." He turned to look where he was going again, only to very nearly run into Erestor. The younger of Elrond's advisors sidestepped the techies, but not quite gracefully enough. With an odd startled sound, Erestor bumped into the wall and dropped the top half of his stack of papers. The chaos that followed unraveled thus: Elrohir jumped away to avoid the falling paper. Elladan was in the way, and was knocked into by Elrohir. The elder of the twins stumbled and very nearly dropped one of the smaller cameras. He juggled it for a moment, then steadied himself, glaring at Elrohir.

"I'll kill you for that later." The elf's empty threat just made his brother laugh, and Erestor scowled at them both.

"Come on! The actors will be showing up in half an hour. We don't have time for this." Gathering his papers, Erestor padded away and the twins both rolled their eyes at his back. Just because he had gotten that promotion…

Elladan and Elrohir worked together flawlessly to set up the cameras in the conference room. The whole place was fashioned in the likeness of a balcony, with a short drop and a garden below, making it exceptionally easy to hide the cameras. Both twins were balanced on ladders, hiding the last of the equipment, when Glorfindel came running in, frantically yelling, "They're coming! The mock Council's about to begin!"

The twins hurriedly finished what they were doing and stashed the ladders away, just as the actors (both proper _and_ oblivious) filed in and found their seats.

Elrond sneaked a glance up at the hidden "cameramen" and gave a subtle nod. That was the cue. Everything was in place for what was likely to become the most pivotal scene of the reality show thus far.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old, you are gathered here to answer the threat of Mordor," said Elrond, looking bored. He'd rehearsed this scene ad nauseum, and found it rather tiresome. Still, it was a critical juncture in the plot of the show, and if everything played out the way he intended, it would result in a fellowship of nine departing Rivendell for Mordor. That would _definitely_ boost the ratings. The prospect cheered him somewhat.

Legolas, an elf from Mirkwood, had come at the summons Elrond had sent. He hadn't a clue about the reality show, thankfully, since the Mirkwood Elves didn't have cable. That made him a perfect candidate for the fellowship, and Elrond was certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that when the time came, the elf would volunteer. Glorfindel had told Elrond that Legolas would up the viewership, since the teen girls of Middle earth would find him quite "fetching." Elrond had scoffed and rolled his eyes, then finally acquiesced. He allowed that they needed some eye candy to appeal to that particular demographic. He hoped the blond-haired, blue-eyed pretty-boy qualified.

Gimli, on the other hand, was an avid watcher of the show, and had practically begged Elrond to be included in some fashion. "Fine," Elrond had said. "You want to be involved? Pack your bags." Gimli had practically squeed with excitement. Elrond had told him never to do it again.

Still, Elrond noted to himself, Gimli did look suspiciously gleeful as his sat in his council chair. The dwarf's inner voice was most definitely squeeing. Elrond felt an involuntary shiver creep up his spine. "We must destroy the Ring, and Sauron with it," he droned on whilst occupied with these troubling thoughts. He knew this speech so well, he could give it drugged, upside-down, and unconscious.

"But destroy it, Lord Elrond?" said a manly voice. "Why not use it to destroy Sauron?" All eyes turned to regard a tall, muscular man with light brown, shoulder length hair, a square-cut jaw, and piercing blue eyes. Boromir, the son of Gondor's steward. Ah, the star quality.

"We must," said Elrond, with little conviction. "It can only be used for evil. Also, you'd make a lousy Dark Lord."

"Hey!" said Boromir. Elrond had actually hired the Gondorian, as well, though he and the elf lord didn't exactly jive on a personal level. Still, a business relationship was a business relationship, and, well, Boromir was pretty canny, relatively speaking. Elrond needed at least one person with a brain for the quest. He wasn't going to suffer a repeat of the _first_ leg of Frodo's journey.

"It's allotters evil!" Gandalf barked, misreading a hidden cue card. "Erm, make that, '_altogether_' evil. That's what I meant to say."

Elrond mentally face palmed. The wizard couldn't even be trusted to read a line correctly. Oh, the sorry state of Middle-earth's Maiar. "Alright, now that that's been established, the only available course of action is to send a party of the best and brightest—the very bravest of men—to the Dark Land to destroy the Ring. Only in the fires of Orodruin can it be unmade. Do I have any volunteers?"

The council chamber grew eerily silent. It was so silent, in fact, that everyone could hear Sam's stomach growling from behind the potted silk plant. Still, no one said anything. No one moved a muscle.

"Anyone?" said Elrond finally. "Anyone at all?"

Frodo's hand crept up slowly.

"I knew it!" Elrond exulted, leaping up from his chair excitedly. "Why, the bravest of halflings, Frodo Baggins, will take the Ring to Mordor! Frodo's will be a task about which songs shall be sung, linnods shall be crafted, best-selling novels shall be written!"

"Uh, actually," said Frodo, sheepishly. "I was just going to ask to be excused." He squirmed uncomfortably. "I'm kind of desperate for a bathroom break, all of a sudden."

Elrond rocketed toward Frodo with an oddly frantic expression on his face. "Oh, no you don't. You have volunteered for the quest! The quest of Mount Doom! You must agree to complete the quest or you'll be denied bathroom privileges. Do I make myself perfectly clear? I am Elrond, and I have spoken."

"Whoa, alright, Elrond," said Frodo, looking disturbed. "Fine, I'll go. Just please, please, please, let me use the bathroom."

"Can we have that in writing?"

Aragorn, not wanting to be outdone by a halfling and desperate for another chance to save the day, shot to his feet. "You have my sword!"

"Uh, I don't need…"

"And my bow!" said Legolas cheerfully, sidling up to Aragorn. No way Aragorn was going to go on a quest without him. The two had been inseparable in Aragorn's younger days, and had often gone adventuring out in the wilds. Aragorn would invariably land himself in all sorts of trouble, and Legolas wouldn't rest till he'd gotten him out again. Legolas would then feel a sense of accomplishment and existential significance. It was a first-rate symbiotic relationship—one Legolas was eager to recreate.

"And my axe!" Gimli grunted, on cue, leaping excitedly toward the others. "Not to be awkward or anything," he whispered in Frodo's ear, "but I'm a huge fan. Would you autograph my beard? Please?"

"What?"

"Uh, never mind."

Boromir also pledged his service to the quest, as did Gandalf. On cue, Merry and Pippin catapulted into the council chamber, piping, "We're coming, too!"

Elrond made a great show of being irritated. He wasn't all that happy that the popularity polls were forcing him to keep them in the show, but what could he do? They couldn't wreak that much havoc as long as the slightly smarter members of the Fellowship tempered them. Or could they?

Sam, who had been hiding unsuccessfully behind the potted plant, sprang out suddenly. At least, he _tried_ to spring. As he did so, he knocked into the plant with his belly, hurling the costly ceramic pot and its hapless occupant across the room and shattering it loudly against a stone pillar. The debris clattered to the ground over the space of several seconds.

Elrond turned a murderous glare on Sam. "That was Númenórean pottery!" he thundered.

Sam looked like he wanted to melt into the floor. Since he was unable to do so, he zipped with extraordinary speed to hide behind Frodo. "Mister Frodo, don't let 'im hurt me. Please don't let 'im hurt me."

"Relax, Sam," said Frodo. "He's not going to hurt you. He'll probably just have to adjust his blood pressure medication, that's all. You're going to come on this quest with me, aren't you, Sam?"

"Oh, yes, Mister Frodo," said Sam, gratefully, clinging awkwardly to Frodo's clothes. "You're not goin' anywhere without me."

"Even to the bathroom, Sam?"

"Oh. Maybe there. But nowhere else without me."

Elrond surveyed the newly formed Fellowship as they posed dramatically together. "Nine companions," he said, eager to have done with the scene (and the miserable halflings). "You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

"Sounds epic!" said Aragorn. "Can we all get matching T-shirts now? With our own logo? Please?"

Elrond's eyes rolled heavenward a moment, and he turned away. "Erestor, just… just get them ready to leave. First thing in the morning. I'm going to lie down awhile. Migraine's coming on."

"Make sure the shirts are black," Aragorn called after him. "Black will look nice with my new Evenstar pendant. Also goes good with my complexion."


	6. Chapter VI - Caradhras

**Chapter VI - Caradhras**

Thus, the freshly minted Fellowship set out from the comforts of hearth and home into the bleak and inhospitable wilds. Since Boromir, Legolas, and Frodo were fairly sensible chaps, they remembered to pack adequate provisions this time around, and henceforth, there were no more miraculous 'food drops.'

Aragorn, who had whined and complained to Elrond incessantly about a certain article of clothing, finally had his custom T-shirt and was wearing it proudly, to Boromir's endless internal scorn. The Gondorian had decided rather early on that he did NOT like the filthy ranger. This had nothing whatsoever to do with the fact that Aragorn was somehow also a contender for the throne of Gondor. By no means was there any correlation at all. By no means.

Legolas, meanwhile, was watching Aragorn as if the ranger were a plump, paralyzed mouse surrounded by starving hawks. He was certain that, any moment now, something was going to go wrong. Something _always_ went wrong when Aragorn was involved with anything. Another byproduct of Legolas' protectiveness of Aragorn was his deep distrust of everyone else on the quest. Legolas was sure at least one of the Fellowship members was a scheming, murderous fiend, planning the demise or incapacitation of the others, most likely.

In this case, he was correct. Legolas would probably have been of more use watching over Frodo instead of Aragorn, since Gandalf secretly had it in for the hobbit. But he couldn't have known; Frodo and Gandalf seemed to have such good chemistry. Gandalf was laughing all the time, especially around Frodo. In fact, the hobbit's very presence seemed to evoke such fond emotional reactions in the wizard that Legolas began to wonder if hobbits had an inherent feel-good effect on the elderly.

The second night approached without incident, which was a rare occurrence, indeed. This had much to do with the fact that Boromir and Legolas did all the navigating and ignored any and all suggestions from the others on that point. Also, Legolas had prevented Pippin from consuming deadly poisonous berries he had found along the way, Sam from tripping and plunging to his doom whilst they were traversing some bluffs, and Aragorn from jumping out and waving at a passing bear.

Finally, the beleaguered company resolved to halt for a rest at the next relatively secure spot, preferably a flat, rocky outcropping, a bit away from the edge, perhaps with edibles (such as non-poisonous berries) and a stream.

Soon, they found a place that suited the criteria (which Legolas thought seemed all too convenient; Boromir knew it had been set up expressly for them by Elrond, and had been well-bugged with hidden cameras). Everyone settled in for a rest and a morsel.

After a time, Boromir overheard Merry and Pippin commenting on how they hoped they wouldn't encounter any danger, as they had no skill with the sword. He offered to give them a lesson. At length, he paused and turned to Aragorn. He had an idea.

"Would you like to practice swords, Aragorn?"

"At your peril, Boromir!" Aragorn crowed, thumping his chest stupidly. "You'd best not tempt me; I might hurt you. I can wallop you with both legs, both arms, and my head tied behind my back!"

"I'm having trouble picturing that," Boromir scoffed under his breath. He cleared his throat. "Well, why don't you indulge me? I'd like to see your legendary skill in action." He resisted the urge to make quote marks in the air with his fingers at the word "legendary."

"Very well, Boromir!" Aragorn strutted forward, hand moving to draw his long sword.

"Um, no," Legolas said firmly, slender fingers going protectively over Aragorn's shoulder. He yanked the ranger backward. "Don't bury yourself, you idiot," he hissed in Aragorn's ear. "I've got a bad feeling about him."

"Why?" said Aragorn, clueless.

"Don't try it, you dolt, or I'll incapacitate you myself."

"Fine."

* * *

Elrond yawned, leaning back in his recliner. "If I have to see one more tight close-up of Legolas' face… Valar, I'm bored. We need to spice things up a bit. Bring me the scriptwriters again; I've just thought of something."

"Not another poisonous berry bush, I hope." Elrohir's brow creased slightly.

"No, no, nothing like that," said Elrond. "Besides, I knew Legolas wouldn't let that stupid, vertically challenged nitwit actually eat them. They were just there for the drama. The public loves drama! We need more of it."

"So what are you thinking?"

* * *

The army of Uruk-hai thundered heavily across the plains, moving steadily onward, scouting their quarry. Lurtz, the mightiest and most intelligent of the Uruks, had led the others along at a steady, but grueling pace for the past few weeks, pausing only seldom. They had to save Frodo Baggins from Gandalf's evil plot; like alcohol in a Halfling pub, time was running out.

"Alive and unspoiled, alive and unspoiled, alive and unspoiled…" chanted several of the Uruks mechanically as they rumbled along.

"Okay, guys, you've been saying that for days now," panted Lurtz, looking back over his shoulder. "Frankly, I'm getting kind of tired of it."

"Oh, sorry," offered a couple of them. A few seconds later, they started up again.

Lurtz rolled his eyes, and the white handprint on his face was momentarily scrunched as his features creased with exasperation. "How'd I get stuck with this job, huh? Someone tell me how."

* * *

After Aragorn had burst out of hiding to wave at the spying crebain, then been body-slammed by Boromir, the group decided it would be best to take the Pass of Caradhras, since, Gandalf said, Saruman was watching their journey.

"Who's Saruman?" Pippin had asked.

"Mean dude," Gandalf had replied, raising his bushy eyebrows. "Terrible at landscaping, and he keeps a dreadful bed and breakfast."

"Oh."

Thus, the Fellowship set course for the mountains of Caradhras. They'd been hiking through the thick snow for some time when, suddenly, Frodo felt his footing slip. He flew head over heels backwards and his cloak became wrapped around him oddly and the Ring on its chain about his neck became dislodged. "Oof," said Frodo. He thought it rather strange that he had fallen, after the fact, and was surprised at just how dramatically it had occurred; it was almost as if he'd stepped on a springboard made out of banana peels. (Actually, it was a springboard _covered_ in banana peels, but he had guessed remarkably closely.)

Boromir didn't seem at all surprised. Without missing a beat, he turned and lunged for Frodo. Instead of helping the sprawled-out hobbit back to his feet, however, he snatched up the Ring. Hoisting it up before his eyes by its chain, he peered at it intently. "It is a strange fate that we must suffer so much fear and doubt over so small a thing. Such a little thing…." He slowly reached out his other hand toward it, doing his best to look mesmerized and slightly unhinged. He could only imagine what kind of dramatic music Elrond was probably adding in in postproduction. Also, he was certain the elf lord would cut now for a commercial break.

Frodo began to panic. "Boromir! What are you doing?" He scrambled to his feet in the slick snow. "Give that back, now!"

Boromir made a face at him. "Why?"

"Uh… it's taking hold of you. Quick! You must give it back."

Legolas intervened, snatching the Ring away from Boromir and handing it back to Frodo. "Try that again and I'll kill you, you dolt," the elf snarled, flashing his teeth at Boromir.

Boromir, who was slightly creeped out by this display, shrunk backward. "Understood loud and clear, Sparkles," he mumbled, turning away.

"Did you just call me 'Sparkles'?"

Dang, that elf had good hearing. Had to be the pointed ears. "Wouldn't think of it," said Boromir quickly.

"What happened?" demanded Aragorn, rushing up to the rest of the group.

"Too busy making snow Arwens again, Aragorn?" Legolas chided.

* * *

"That turned out great!" said Glorfindel, clapping at the screen displaying live footage. Elrond had invited him in to see how the staged drama with the Ring played out. It had gone off better than any of them had predicted.

Elrond nodded, pleased. "If nothing else, it'll remind the audience of the Ring's importance. When you stop to think about it, making a piece of jewelry the focal point of a quest is kind of… silly."

"What'd you make of the crebain, ada?" said Elrohir, padding in on soft feet. He'd gone to get more popcorn. "I just saw that episode, and I think a lot of the viewers were confused."

"They should be. It wasn't _my_ doing. If that meddling wizard, Saruman, interferes with my ratings bonanza TV show again, I'll sue."

"He's always had a craving for the spotlight," Elladan mused. He was sitting in a folding chair with his name on the back, munching caramel popcorn. "Last I heard, he's been strutting around like a peacock in Joseph's Technicolor Dreamcoat, calling himself 'Saruman of Many Colors.'"

Elrohir coughed. "Oh dear. Gone senile at last, has he? Gandalf definitely has, and I knew it wouldn't take long for the others to follow."

"Still," said Elrond, irritably, "if he tries anything else, so help me…."

* * *

"Gandalf, are you sure this is a good idea? We're on the edge of a sheer cliff, the ground's knee deep with snow, and there's this little voice saying 'avalanche city' in my head." Frodo was beginning to doubt Gandalf's leadership.

Boromir and Legolas _definitely_ doubted Gandalf's leadership, though the wizard kept claiming, adamantly, that he knew precisely where they were going.

"I've been this way a hundred times, Frodo," said Gandalf, smiling crabbily. He was becoming very proficient at inverting his emotions around the hobbit, as per Elrond's instructions. "We'll make it; not to worry."

"A hundred times?" said Frodo.

"My memory's failing," Gandalf admitted. "I've either been this way once, or a hundred times. I can't recall which."

Legolas and Boromir exchanged glances. This was not looking good. They were traversing a narrow, icy path that bordered, on the left, a sheer cliff face shooting up hundreds of feet, and on the right, a thousand-foot drop off.

Suddenly, Legolas leapt up onto the snow, tiptoeing ahead of the others. "There's a fell voice on the air!" he said, and his voice was nearly drowned out by the asperity of the slanting snow and wind.

"There's a 'gel lice on his hair'?" Pippin asked quizzically.

"A fell voice on the air!" Legolas repeated, directing an odd glance back at the simple hobbit. He couldn't place exactly from where the voice was emanating, but wherever and whatever it was, it was terrifying. In point of fact, it was Boromir's earbud headphones blaring the trololo song.

"It's Saruman!" Gandalf bellowed, and the cliff face behind him rumbled menacingly.

"You idiot!" Legolas hissed. "Pipe down; you'll start an avalan—"

Gandalf, who was _convinced_ Saruman was remotely casting spells on them, stepped to the edge of the narrow, thousand-foot high cliff, and started loudly shouting counter-spells into the wind.

Legolas face-palmed. "Shut up, Gandalf!" he hissed again.

Gandalf ignored the elf again, chanting something that sounded remarkably like, "Cast the red dress! Sing a polka! Ski snow! NOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

At Gandalf's final, strident bellow, there was a decisive cracking noise from the cliff wall behind them. The Fellowship looked up to see the thick sheet of frozen debris breaking free from the cliff-face like a calving glacier.

"Great," said Legolas, roughly a millisecond before everyone was buried under a mountain of snow and ice.

* * *

The director's tent in the mountains shook with a certain elf-lord's echoing roar of "Intervention!" followed by the rapid dispatch of a team of ninja elves on a mission to surreptitiously save the snow-entombed Fellowship.

One thing was sure: Elrond would have words with Gandalf after this. _Several_ words, in fact.


	7. Chapter VII - The Walls of Moria

**Chapter VIII – The Doors of Moria**

After Elrond's team of elven ninjas had sneakily rescued the Fellowship (they dug them most of the way out, then made themselves scarce as the snow-bound group broke through the thin surface), Boromir sidled up to Gandalf.

"Ohhhh, you are in trouble now," he said, smirking. The rest of the group was too busy arguing through chattering teeth to catch Boromir's satisfied remark.

The hidden two-way microphone in Gandalf's pointed hat crackled. Gandalf cringed, steeling himself for what was sure to be the backside chewing of his life.

To draw the rest of the Fellowship's attention away from Gandalf's 'conversation' with Elrond, Boromir loudly joined their argument, contending that the group should go by way of Minas Tirith.

"Moria!" Gimli was roaring. "We should go through the mines! Nice, dark, warm mines. Salted pork, malt beer, ripe meat off the bone. Did I mention salted pork?"

Frodo, red-faced and shivering, spoke up. "That sounds kinda nice. Maybe we should go that way."

"No!" Boromir bellowed, much more loudly than he needed to. "I really, really need to go home. I… uh… I forgot to pack clean socks."

"Oh no!" said Merry and Pippin in unison. They knew how horrific it was to leave home without clean socks (which was ironic, considering Hobbits didn't wear socks).

"Oh, _please_, pansy human," grunted Gimli, waving Boromir off. "We dwarves only change our socks once a year. And sometimes we skip on leap years." He edged closer to Frodo. "So how about it? Nice warm mines. And all the salted pork we can eat. Think of it: salt. Pork. Together. Pork and salt, and ours for the having."

"No!" Boromir said again. "Not the mines. Mines are dark and dirty and full of dwarves."

Gimli drew himself up to his full height, which wasn't all that impressive. "What're you saying?" he demanded. The dwarf decided, in that moment, that he did not like Boromir.

Actually, Boromir had only been trying to get the company back on track after their disastrous detour; Elrond's location scouts had intended for the group to go to Minas Tirith all along, but Gimli, apparently, had not been informed of this. Boromir cleared his throat to get the dwarf's attention, but Gimli wasn't of a mind to have his attention gotten.

"Well, whaddayasay, Frodo?"

"The mines sound nice and all, Mr. Frodo," said Sam, "but I don't like dark tunnels underground. Reminds me of my aunt's house."

"It's alright, Sam," Frodo reassured, looking very cold. "Let's go through the mines." He glanced side to side to gauge the others' reactions to this decision.

Gimli nodded, pleased. Boromir, Merry, and Pippin looked worried.

Aragorn hadn't been paying attention, as usual. He was making snow orcs, hacking them apart with his sword, and trying to look epic whilst doing so. The lattermost endeavor was not successful. Legolas was closely supervising the ranger, convinced at any moment Aragorn would trip and impale himself on his own sword or some such tomfoolery.

Gandalf seemed to be whimpering to himself over by the cliff edge, scrunched down like a wolfhound pup about to be whacked with a rolled up copy of the _Rivendell Daily_.

"What's eating Gandalf?" Frodo asked.

"Oh," said Boromir, enjoying himself overmuch, "he's just suffering some gastrointestinal distress. He'll be alright."

The others nodded sympathetically; it had to have been the cram Gimli had brought along.

After a few minutes, Gandalf returned to the group, and his face bore the somewhat purplish cast of one who had only just come off a roller coaster ride of negative emotions.

"We've decided to go through Moria," Frodo announced, teeth chattering.

"Moria?" said Gandalf weakly. He sighed, thinking. That hadn't been where Elrond had intended for them to go, but he had to admit to himself that it would make for tremendous drama. That, and Gandalf had connections there. Secret connections. The wizard nodded, finally. "Very well, Frodo."

* * *

Elrond nearly burst a blood vessel. "Moria?! This is going to put the budget over significantly! We're going to have to pay our staff overtime. All the logistics, all the equipment, not to mention the associated risks… gahhhhh!"

"Relax, ada," said Elrohir calmly. "We'll take care of it. Why don't you go sit down and have a nice soothing cup of Earl Grey?"

"Yeah," Elladan chimed in. "Besides, think of how visually dynamic a little jaunt through those mines could be! Darkness, danger, mystery, monsters… could be epic. Could send the viewership through the roof. Remember _Who Wants to be a Balrog's Brunch? _People love this stuff. Let _us_ handle it, ada."

"Very well." Elrond sighed, trudging away to the catering tent for his tea and a therapeutic eye mask.

"Sweet!" the twins said in unison, high-fiving.

"Don't forget," said Erestor, who'd been hiding in the corner of the director's tent. "You have to neutralize the Watcher before they get there. We'll have no end of grief if you don't."

"Don't get your robes in a bunch," said Elladan. "We've already taken care of that, haven't we, Elrohir?"

* * *

The Fellowship approached the walls of Moria via a narrow path running parallel to a small lake. The place was shrouded in eerie, misty moonlight reflecting a faint oily sheen on the heavy-looking water.

"Wow," said Merry, "this place is awesome!"

"I don't know," said Sam uneasily. "Looks haunted to me."

"Don't be such a sissy, Sam. Ghosts are for the birds."

"Oh, leave Sam alone," said Frodo, slanting an annoyed look back at Merry. "He can't help it if he's afraid of everything." He turned to Gandalf. "So, uh, where's the door?"

Gandalf looked uncomfortable. "It's… invisible."

"Invisible?"

Gimli nodded smugly, sidling up to Frodo. "We dwarves like to keep our massive partying grounds a secret. Don't want any o' those meddling elves crashing our awe-inspiring, liquor-swilling revelries."

Frodo coughed lightly. "Uh, are you saying Moria's basically a giant nightclub?"

"Yeah, pretty much," said Gimli.

"Awesome, let's go!" cried several voices. Legolas' voice, however, was not among them.

"Giant nightclub, huh?" he scoffed. "Why would we elves even WANT to crash your stupid parties? I could single-handedly drink all the booze in Moria and not even get a buzz. Dwarven lightweights."

"Bring it!" Gimli snarled.

"Ah," said Gandalf. "Here's the door." He stood before what seemed to be a flat stone wall.

"Yes?" said Frodo, moving forward to inspect. "Door, Gandalf? It looks like a wall to me."

"Well, it's not. It's a door. Watch." Gandalf took a small step backward, raised his staff and rumbled, "Open Sesame!"

Nothing happened; there was an awkward silence.

"I thought for sure that would work," said Gandalf. "It worked the last time I was here. They must've changed the password. Hmmm."

"Ooh, ooh, I know!" said Pippin, rushing toward the door. "This one always works at home." He knocked on the wall in a distinctive seven-beat cadence. Nothing happened.

"Fool of a Took," said Gandalf. "These kinds of doors won't open just for the knocking! Let me try another password. This one NEVER fails…." He raised his staff again. "TrustNo1."

Still nothing happened.

"Oh, for crying out loud," said Gimli, "I'll have to use the universal dwarven door password." He cleared his throat, took a deep breath, and began. "1-7-3-4-6-7-3-2-1-4-7-6-Charlie-3-2-7-8-9-7-7-7-6 -4-3-Tango-7-3-2-Victor-7-3-1-1-7-8-8-8-7 3-2-4-7-6-7-8-9-7-6-4-3-7-6."

Boromir and Legolas exchanged glances.

"Yeesh, I'd no idea the dwarves' drinking halls were so secure," Legolas murmured in wonder. "The Mirkwood gate password is 'Mi cabello es más hermoso que el pelo de Glorfindel.' "

"It _would_ be that," said Boromir, rolling his eyes.

Suddenly, upon the face of the wall, there grew an image in blue lights depicting two trees with intertwining branches. It was basically the dwarves' neon sign announcing that the party was on (or at least, it had been, a long time ago).

Then the stone wall separated at the center, sliding open with a cheery whoosh reminiscent of the Enterprise's turbolift doors. "Access granted," said the door in a pleasant female voice. "Enjoy your stay!"

"Oooh," said Merry and Pippin, clapping like it was some sort of parlor trick.

But instead of the throbbing pulse of techno music and a sea of ale-chugging and salted pork-munching dwarves cavorting around a bonfire, the group was greeted by a cold, eerie darkness and silence.

"Oh," said Gimli.

"So…" said Frodo, looking around. "Where is everyone?"

Gimli swallowed, growing rather nervous. "They may be… showering?"

"Let me see." Gandalf raised his staff (it was one Elrond had provided, with an incandescent, battery-powered bulb hidden in the top), and it began to glow faintly, illumining the vast entry chamber before them.

It was _not_ a pretty sight. ~


	8. Chapter VIII - What Happens in Moria

**Chapter VIII – What Happens in Moria Stays in Moria**

It was a vast bone yard, like an elephant graveyard, only instead of elephants the skeleton donors were dwarves. Dwarves-turned-pincushions everywhere, courtesy of several million ugly goblin arrows.

Everyone stood staring a long moment, eyes wide.

"Sooooo," said Frodo, "I guess we could say the party was killer?" He didn't mean to be insensitive (after all, these WERE most likely Gimli's relatives), but the comedic timing was just too good to miss.

Gimli then proceeded to run wailing toward the bone pile, waving his stubby arms spuriously and sobbing hysterically whilst trying to identify which one of these skeletons was his great aunt twice removed on his mother's uncle's first cousin's side. Frankly, most of the Fellowship felt he'd lost it at this point.

Suddenly, Frodo vanished with a squeak. Actually, it was more of a yelp, followed by a squeak, and actually, he hadn't vanished. He'd just been grabbed, without so much as a 'by your leave,' by the Watcher in the Water.

"Heeeeeeeelp!" Frodo yammered in terror as he was dragged out of the mines by several slimy tentacles.

"Oh no!" said Gandalf, pretending to be horrified and then proceeding to do absolutely nothing.

The rest of the Fellowship, sans the blubbering Gimli, catapulted back out of the mines. Aragorn aimed his bow at a tentacle and missed, cleanly. Next, he accidentally dry-fired and the bowstring twanged against his inner elbow, just above the bracer.

"That was a good try," said Legolas, shoving the whimpering, doubled over ranger back inside. "I'll take it from here."

Legolas and Boromir then proceeded to bumrush the Watcher and retrieve Frodo.

* * *

"That was _hilarious_," said Elladan, high-fiving Elrohir. Their new command center was nestled in one of the myriad rooms in Moria's upper levels, somewhere the Fellowship would never end up (unless Gandalf got them lost again). The camera crew was bustling about, as usual, moving to set up for the next shot sequences.

"We should encourage Estel to try to be heroic more often!"

Glorfindel looked bemused. "Your father's not going to like the fact that you endangered his actors like that."

Elrohir waved him off. "Please. One puny lake monster is _nothing_. I knew they could handle it."

"Oh yeah? Well, you think they'll just 'handle' the Balrog, too?"

"Relax, Glorfindorf. We paid him off."

Glorfindel made a shocked face. "You guys have money?!"

"Uh, _yeah_," said Elladan. "We pooled our allowances. Ada had to double them last time we threatened to blackmail him."

"All I can say is I'm glad you're not _my _sons."

* * *

"What is this new devilry?" asked Boromir, trying to sound frightened.

"Perfect timing!" Gandalf whispered merrily to himself. He furtively glanced at his hand and said in an ominous voice, "A Balrog… a demon of the ancient world. This foe is beyond any of you." A beat of terrified silence. "I should now like to recite all the ruling kings and queens of Númenor from Elros Tar-Minyatar to Ar-Pharazôn…"

"Save it, Gandalf," snapped Legolas, and he turned and led the Fellowship away from the roiling flames announcing the demon-beast's approach.

"So much for me trying to waste time!" muttered Gandalf, hobbling after them.

As the resounding roars and thunderous, pulsing stomping of the beast grew nigh, Gandalf led the Fellowship leisurely, zigzagging towards the Bridge of Khazad-Dûm, trying to stall as long as possible. He halted abruptly at the edge of a Dwarven-made precipice, and had an idea.

Soon enough, the others drew up behind him.

"Lead them on, Aragorn!" he ordered. "Do as I say!" He forcefully shoved Aragorn towards the brink.

Aragon would have fallen to the very depths of the mines had Legolas not rushed forward and seized him by the back of his tunic, toppling them both wildly backwards in upheaval.

"You all right, Aragorn?" asked Legolas, glaring at Gandalf. Once assured that he was, Legolas got up in Gandalf's grill a little. "Would you watch where you're shoving people, you decrepit old codger? Trust me, Aragorn doesn't need any help trying to kill himself."

"Fine," muttered Gandalf, annoyed that his plan to off Aragorn had failed. He wasn't sure why he wanted to kill Aragorn now, too, except that having less people around who were prone to protect Frodo might help him in achieving his end goal. It seemed logical enough to him, though Legolas was also rapidly vying for a place on his hit list.

At length, the Fellowship reached a steeply descending stairway, in the midst of which was a breach. The Balrog was clearly nearer, as evidenced by the rumbling earth and shuddering walls. Gandalf at once cut in front of everyone and jumped across the divide, only just making it.

He wheezed. "Come, Legolas!"

The agile elf leapt across.

"Come, Boromir—Merry, Pippin!"

The sturdy Gondorian jumped over with Merry tucked under one arm, Pippin under the other. After this, Aragorn tossed Sam to Boromir. Legolas caught him.

The walls shook violently; a deafening roar reverberated throughout the cavern. Two or three gargantuan boulders broke loose from the lofty ceiling and plummeted to the darkness-enshrouded depths beneath. Gimli hurled himself across with a bellow, also rescued by Legolas, leaving only Frodo and Aragorn on the other side.

The stairs upon which the ranger and hobbit were perched began to crumble near the edge, and they scrambled madly back up them for fear of plunging into the chasm beneath. Actually, Aragorn kind of stood there looking stupefied while Frodo dragged him backwards. The distance between the broken stairways had now greatly increased—in fact, it was apparent now that it would require a Herculean leap to cover the expanse.

Gandalf relished this fact immensely. "All right…. Let us be off!"

"What about Frodo and Aragorn?" questioned Sam indignantly.

"It's a pity," said Gandalf, making a feeble attempt to feign sorrow, "but we may as well get away from here while we still can. Besides, they will give the Balrog something to chew on while we make our escape!"

Legolas slanted an incredulous look at the old wizard. "That is _disgusting_, Gandalf. Even for you."

Gandalf didn't seem to hear. Cackling to himself, he turned and flew down the stairway towards the bridge, Boromir, Merry, and Pippin following. The rest remained at the edge of the sundered stairs, hopeful that some miracle would deliver their friends undamaged across the span.

Gandalf mentally rubbed his hands together as he ran. He couldn't believe his good fortune. Once he reached the Bridge of Khazad-Dûm, however, he realized that he had made some sort of blunder, for there, behind him, were all the others, including Aragorn and Frodo. The wizard rubbed his eyes in disbelief. "What?! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

The Fellowship eyed him dubiously as they approached.

Gandalf quickly revised his reaction. "I mean, 'Yes! I cannot believe you made it, against all hope!' "

Soon, everyone was across the narrow stone bridge that spanned the distance from death in the mines to freedom. But Gandalf was still debating what to do. His plan had failed—could he delay long enough for the Balrog to arrive without making it too obvious that this was his intention? He turned hopefully. There was the Balrog, staring at him questioningly out of the fiery darkness. Gandalf turned to the others.

"I must go _fight _the Balrog! Wait for me." The wizard carefully picked his way back to the center of the bridge.

"Excellent work!" he said. "Now all you have to do is—"

The Balrog did not wait for him to finish. "Apologies, Mithrandir," he growled, and his voice was like the low rolling of thunder, "but Celeborn paid me twice what you did."

"Paid you to do what?" demanded Gandalf.

"Kill _you_!"

"What? That's- that's cheating! No fair!"

Gandalf and the Balrog lunged at each other. The wizard smote the bridge with his staff, and in a terrific rending of stone, sundered it right at his feet. As Gandalf had planned, the Balrog plummeted violently down into the obscurity. However, as the reader may observe by now, Gandalf's plans (especially when they actually worked) walked hand in hand with problems. The Balrog swung his flaming whip skillfully and took Gandalf with him.

Strangely enough, no one felt much regret at this incident, and if there were tears, perhaps they were secretly tears of joy.

* * *

"Whoa." Elladan and Elrohir blinked several times at the viewing screen.

Glorfindel grinned, nodding at them knowingly. "Looks like several people had the same idea. That Balrog's a shrewd business-beast."

"Can't say we'll miss Gandalf too much," said Elrohir, shrugging, "but ada is going to be mad."

"Pshh, naw," said Elladan, collapsing backward into his plush director's chair. "We did him a favor. Besides, Gandalf was _no one's_ favorite."

* * *

The next thing the Fellowship knew, Haldir and his cohort were aiming the points of arrows in their faces. Aragorn thought he'd try to be clever and explain his way out of the awkward situation by speaking the elves' native tongue. Alas, he forgot for a moment which language was which and began speaking what little he knew of Orcish to Haldir. Naturally, this enraged the elf leader. Legolas, irritated at Haldir for getting angry with Aragorn, only made matters worse by calling him a 'fat loam.'

"How dare you call me a fat loam, you pretty-boy!" yelled Haldir.

"Pretty-boy? Is _that_ the best you can come up with, fat-boy?" jeered Legolas, shoving Haldir backward.

Haldir leapt to his daintily booted feet and launched himself at Legolas, who flew backward and landed on his tuckus.

Aragorn, Legolas, and Haldir then proceeded to yell at and shove each other for hours, until Boromir and Gimli physically separated them and forced them to sort things out. Haldir ultimately agreed, huffily, to lead them to the city, as he was eager to get the 'most discourteous fiends' off his hands. After several tedious hours of struggling through the dense tangle of trees, undergrowth, and laurel of the forest, they finally reached the gates of Lothlórien.

"Good riddance," muttered Haldir, resentfulness dripping like acid from his voice.

"So long, tubbo," Legolas mumbled in reply.

Some elves led them through the city and up some long spiral stairs, to the court where they were to speak with Lady Galadriel and her husband, Celeborn. The couple descended the steps from their dais arm in arm, resplendent with glittering light and a hazy blue mist that seemed to embrace them. There was a long silence, as the duo studied them grimly. Then—

"Tell me, where is Gandalf?" asked Celeborn. "For I much desire to speak with him."

"He has fallen into shadow," replied Galadriel, as she 'telepathically' searched the Fellowship members' minds. (Actually, there had been a microphone in her ear since last week telling her what everyone else was 'thinking.' But being somewhat gullible, she thought she'd miraculously developed psychic capabilities.)

Legolas looked up at Celeborn, trying to look sad, and said, "He was taken by both shadow and flame—a Balrog of Morgoth."

"Yes!" yelled Celeborn victoriously. He then stopped and looked around. Everyone was eyeing him strangely. "I…I mean, NOOOOOOOO! Why? Why? Oh, Gandalf, why did you have to leave me? Wahahahahaha!"

Celeborn grabbed Galadriel's arm and covered his face with her sleeve, glanced back up to see if anyone was buying it, then began to cry again.

"Um… I don't think Celeborn liked Gandalf very much," Pippin whispered to Merry.

"And you blame him?" said Merry. "He _was_ kind of a psycho."

"Come! You shall rest here tonight," said Galadriel, pulling her arm away from Celeborn.

Some sexy elf maidens led the Fellowship back down the winding steps to a grassy clearing surrounded by the silvery trunks of the mallorns. The nightingales were singing softly, the streams were gurgling, and the wind sussurated placidly through the leaves overhead. Also, Legolas caught, high up and far away, the sounds of Celeborn's personal choir singing a song celebrating Gandalf's fall.

"What are they singing about?" asked Pippin curiously.

"Oh, the choir?" asked Legolas. "They're singing about… uh... the joys of berry picking."

"Oh," said Aragorn, nodding. "I like berry picking."


End file.
